Fragments
by Abra.exe
Summary: An ever-growing collection of one-shots and drabbles. Shaun/Desmond, Ezio/Leonardo, Altair/Malik.
1. Move Away

**Ideas for fics keep popping into my head during my classes. Good news? Lots of slashy goodness for you. Bad news? Failing grades for not paying attention in history for me.**

**Oh well, who needs a higher education anyway?**

**SO. For the sake of convenience and organization, I'm just going to start posting my shorter slashy fics here. There'll be some AltairxMalik, EzioxLeonardo, ShaunxDesmond, and whatever else my little brain cooks up. Okay? Okay.**

**Let's get on with it, then.**

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"Desmond, heads up, we're pulling you out."

Desmond blinked as the painfully white plane of the Animus' loading screen faded away and the interior of the hideout swam back into view. To his immediate right, Rebecca was swearing furiously at her terminal, spewing out profanities he had never even heard before. Lucy was trying to hide a grimace as she tugged the catheter out of his arm, and as far as Desmond could tell, Shaun was at his computer, pretending that he wasn't there in hopes that he wouldn't attract Rebecca's attention.

"Something wrong?" He asked Lucy, sitting up and rubbing a kink out of his neck as he snuck wary glances at Rebecca.

"The memory interface is overheating," Lucy explained with a sigh, "Something's gone wrong with the cooling system."

Desmond nodded gravely. That would explain both the glitches he had experienced earlier in the Animus and why Rebecca was so pissed off. Overheating was a problem that plagued the Animus 1.0. Rebecca's Baby was supposed to be far above such maladies. "Is it fixable?"

"Yeah, but it'll take a couple hours!" Rebecca snapped, shooting Desmond a dirty look, as if it were his fault. Desmond quickly looked back to Lucy, and, God bless her, the woman came to his rescue.

"Why don't you go stretch your legs in the mean time? Practice the moves you've picked up from Ezio."

"Uh, yeah, sure," Desmond agreed immediately, eager to get out of the room as quickly as possible. Rebecca was easy enough to get along with when she was in a good mood, which normally was always, but it was best to stay clear out of her way when she got worked up.

There was really no need for Desmond to practice any of the techniques he had garnered from Ezio. They came to him so instantly and effortlessly, they were already second nature to him. Still, with nothing better to do, he entertained himself by launching himself across the warehouse, scrambling up and over boxes, vaulting across rafters. He landed on a platform that was at least thirty feet above the ground with a grunt and he straightened.

Abruptly, his vision went dark.

"Fuck," Desmond hissed, clutching at the side of his head as fear raced through him. "Not now…" Faintly illuminated figures were darting past him, and his surroundings were starting to flicker. No, he had to keep it together, he couldn't pass out now, but there was a sudden rush of light, color, noise–

_He flung his weight forward, hand latching onto the platform. He swung himself up, shifting into a crouch as he crawled to the edge of the beam, squinting into the sunlight that momentary blinded him as he cast his gaze around the city. Jerusalem lay sprawled before him, the setting sun reflecting off its buildings, making the entire city glow. The wind was fierce up here, whipping at his clothes and tugging at his hood—_

"Miles? Where are you?"

—_he could hear an eagle cry from high above him, and it swooped down so close to him, he could have reached out and brush it with his fingertips as it passed—_

"Miles? What are you doing up there?"

_Altair stood slowly, moving forward until his toes were hanging off the end of the beam. He took a deep breath—_

"Miles! What are you doing, stop! Miles!"

—_stretching his arms and bending his knees—_

"MILES! Don't!"

—_and he launched himself in the air._

"DESMOND!"

And Desmond was falling.

His heart lurched in his chest, panicking instantly. It was instinct alone that had him turning his body out of his head-long dive, twisting in midair as the ground came rushing up to meet him, and he closed his eyes, waiting for the cruel, unforgiving embrace of the concrete—

Arms snatched at him, and he was falling into something, no, some_one, _absorbing his impact, and Desmond drove them both into the ground. He heard a grunt of pain as he knocked the wind out of whoever had caught him, but he had no time to dwell on it. His shoulder and, more importantly, his head, made contact with the ground, making a dull, sickening thud. For a moment, Desmond blacked out, his ears ringing and tears springing to his eyes. He couldn't breathe, and he had to fight the urge to vomit, the pain was so intense, but soon the world came back into focus, and he realized someone was grasping his shoulders, shaking him slightly. He found their face as they hauled him into a sitting position.

"Sh-Shaun?" He groaned, blinking hazily. "_Fuck_… What—?"

"You – almost – killed – yourself!" Shaun managed to spit out, absolutely livid. His fingers were digging painfully into Desmond's shoulders. "What the _bloody fuck_ was that?!"

"I…" Desmond started, swallowing hard. His head was pounding horribly. "I was… Altair, I… Viewpoint, I did a… A…"

If looks could kill, Desmond would have dropped dead on the spot.

"The bleeding effect?!" Shaun screeched, "You were fucking _hallucinating?_"

Desmond nodded mutely.

It seemed Shaun was temporarily rendered incapable of speech. He released Desmond, leaning back slightly as he pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "Fuck," he said again.

Desmond was trying to take slow, deep breaths, but it wasn't working so well. He glanced up at the platform he had jumped from; it was three stories above them. He suddenly felt cold, shaken down to his core. If Shaun hadn't come along, hadn't snapped him out it, hadn't managed to break his fall…

Apparently, Shaun was thinking along the same lines.

There were suddenly arms around him again. Shaun was pulling the assassin to him, arms around his shoulders and back, and Desmond found his face pressed against the older man's neck. Shaun was holding him as tightly as possible, his breathing shaky and slightly panicked in Desmond's ear.

"Fuck," He kept saying, "Fuck, I… You… Christ, Desmond, you nearly gave me a heart attack, I…"

He grabbed Desmond's shoulders again and held him at arm's length, giving him a long, intense glare. "You," He snarled, "are not going _anywhere_ alone. _Ever_. _Again_. I swear to God, if that ever happens again…" He let out a rough sigh, and swallowed. "Do you understand me?" Desmond nodded again. "Good."

And Desmond was back in that hug again. He managed to unpin one arm to give Shaun an awkward pat on the back. He realized that he should probably feel embarrassed, being hugged like this by another grown man. They had to look suspicious, after all, sitting on the cold warehouse floor, tangled together so clumsily, but he couldn't bring himself to care. For now, he just let out a long breath he hadn't realized he had been holding, letting his forehead rest on Shaun's shoulder, and taking as much comfort as he could from the long embrace.

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**Shaun has always struck me as someone who is secretly a worrywart… Someone who jumps to anger so he can hide his worry… Yeah.**

**Please review, my lovelies. And if you have a request, let me know and I'll see what I can do for you.**

**Expect to see more coming soon, alright?**


	2. Hurricane

**I keep getting mauled by ideas.**

**You see, I'm writing a research paper for my History class on Leonardo da Vinci. He was one crazy-interesting guy, let me tell you, and as I do my research, these little ideas creep in my brain and keep me up at night.**

**THEY DEMAND TO BE WRITTEN. I AM POWERLESS AGAINST THEM.**

**So, once again, I'm neglecting my schoolwork to entertain you guys. But whatever, I'm an art major. I don't need that them book learnin's anyways. **

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He had to have been exhausted, to have fallen asleep so easily in that uncomfortable little chair.

Ezio's body was slumped gracelessly in his seat, his chin resting on his chest, rising and falling gently with his deep, slow breathing. Leonardo gazed hungrily at the young man, the hidden blade held loosely in his hands, temporarily forgotten.

Ezio had entranced Leonardo the second he had met him. He was charming and light-hearted, playful, debonair, and completely dashing.

Not to mention that he was, perhaps, the most handsome man Leonardo had ever met in his life.

Of course, recent events had changed the man, teenager, really. Leonardo frowned. He was only seventeen years old, and yet he already carried a burden most grown would be unable to bear. It had saddened Leonardo to learn of the family's loss, the injustice of it all. For some time, Leonardo had thought that Ezio, too, had been executed alongside his father and brothers, and Leonardo had grieved for him, wounded by the loss of a young man he hadn't even really known. It was only several days later, when he saw the wanted posters bearing Ezio's name and likeness, did he realize that he had escaped.

It had been a great relief.

Leonardo set the blade down quietly, moving to crouch in front of the young man and peer up at his face. He looked so young, so unguarded and vulnerable and _tired, _and Leonardo could not help himself. He found that he was reaching out to brush lightly at a lock of the man's hair, pushing it away from his face.

He did not stir.

Slowly, Leonardo let his fingertips ghost across Ezio's forehead and cheekbone. In an act of startling boldness, he let his hand rest on Ezio's cheek, cradling it gently. It spoke volumes of the young man's exhaustion when he still did not wake. Instead, his eyes fluttered briefly as he muttered something unintelligible under his breath, unconsciously leaning into Leonardo's caress.

The action made something painful flair up in Leonardo's chest, something so primal and protective that it nearly compelled the artist to fling his arms around the man and cradle him to his chest. Of course, Leonardo did not act on the sudden impulse. He stood slowly and pulled his hand away, only lingering long enough to briefly brush his thumb across Ezio's cheek. Ezio's face screwed up slightly at the sudden lack of warmth, and, mumbling again, he shifted in his seat, falling back into his deep slumber.

Leonardo turned quickly to return to the blade, bending over the codex page as his face flushed. Yes, Ezio Auditore had certainly managed to enchant the artist. Leonardo just prayed that, in the future, he would be able to contain himself…

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**Aw, Leonardo. You should have just raped him while you had the chance…**

**Anyway. I'll attempt to write an Altair/Malik one next. Keep your eyes peeled.**

**Also, I'm naming chapters after songs, because I'm uncreative. Bonus points to whoever knows which bands/artists they come from.  
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	3. This River Is Wild

**You guuuyyysss. Seriously, now. You're all awesome. Thanks for all the reviews, I squeal with joy every time I get a new one.**

**And because you guys are SO AWESOME (and because I have no life), here's ANOTHER CHAPTER! These shots are seriously writing themselves.**

**Okay, for the setting, no preexisting city really fit, so I kind of made one up. Except that I was too lazy to come up with any name or description of it except that it has a river, and I'm a bum, so WHATEV. As for Altair and Malik, they're sixteen and seventeen, respectively. I sometimes like them best as novices. **

**So, yeah. On to the fic.**

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It was almost as if the world was moving in slow motion.

He saw the guard grab at the front of Altair's robes as the novice had lunged forward to swing at him, missing. He saw the guard half-turn, swinging Altair around in a wide arc. He saw him let go. He saw Altair, stumbling backwards, trying to gain his footing on the slick ground, but his feet were slipping away from underneath him. He saw his back hit the low stone wall. He saw how he tipped backwards, his feet leaving the ground. He saw him falling, his hands darting out in a desperate attempt to latch onto something, anything, but it was too late. He saw Altair disappear entirely over the edge of the wall and into the river below them.

Malik forgot how to breathe.

And then time was speeding up again. "ALTAIR!" Malik screamed, starting forward. The guard he had been fighting tried to grab him, too, but Malik broke his grip, throwing him off balance, and the novice assassin turned swiftly on his heel to thrust his dagger into the guard's belly. The guard who had thrown Altair into the river was leaning over the edge of the wall, searching for him, and Malik dealt with him as well, grabbing him from behind and plunging his hidden blade into his neck.

Malik had flung himself into the river before the guard's body had even hit the ground.

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This mission had been there first real assignment, unescorted by any teachers or senior assassins – it was only themselves and their own cunning.

It had been so hard to believe that so much could have gone wrong.

They had spent two days on their investigation, so determined to make sure that their first independent assassination would go right, so determined to prove themselves, but not even half of the information that they had gathered had been true. There had been nearly three times as much security as they had originally anticipated, and the scaffolding they had been told they could use to slip over the wall into the rich district had not been there. The weather had turned sour, and the pouring rain and howling wind made it all the more difficult. Night had long since fallen by the time they managed to get to their target. Altair, frustrated and impatient, abandoned all pretense of stealth and attacked their target without hesitation, quick and brutal and thirsty for blood.

Within minutes, every guard in the city was looking for them. They had no choice but to run.

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The river was moving swiftly, the current made rough by the storm. Malik was unable to spot Altair above water, and his heart twisted with fear. He took a breath and dived, eyes searching desperately for any sign of the younger teen. The water was murky, and the darkness made it difficult to see, but – There! Far ahead of him he could see a white-clad figure.

Malik swam as hard as he could, desperate to reach his friend. His powerful strokes coupled with the current soon had him reaching the other novice. Malik dived again, snatching Altair around the middle and hauling him up to the surface. He was completely limp in his arms, and Malik struggled to hold Altair's head above the water.

"Altair!" Malik bellowed over the roar of the river, but he was unresponsive, eyes closed and mouth slack. Malik clung to him tighter, fighting back the bubble of panic and anguish that threatened to overwhelm him.

By now, the river had whisked them out of the rich district and into the poor, where there were no walls surrounding the river and everything was pulled back far away from the it's bank. Malik fought against the current to drag Altair onto the bank and into the shadow of a bridge. He was horrified to find that his friend was not breathing. Heart pounding, Malik hauled his partner up to pound on his back, almost sick with desperation.

"Altair!" Malik called again, "Please, Altair, wake up, you cannot die, not like this!"

It wasn't working. He shook the boy and pounded harder at his back and screamed his name, but it wasn't working.

A sob tore itself from Malik's throat. He laid the teen's impossibly still body back down, staring hopelessly at his face.

He couldn't be dead.

"Altair… You bastard…" He choked, blinded by tears. "You can't be… How could you… How could you die, you bastard, _how could you die?! _God damn you, Altair!"

Malik's despair was twisting into a cold fury. With a tortured, primal growl, he lifted a fist, punching Altair in the chest with all his power.

The boy suddenly gasped, and Malik nearly fell over backwards in his shock.

He watched, stunned, as Altair rolled away from him onto his side, coughing up vast amounts of river water. His entire body shook with the effort of purging the water from his lungs. After a solid minute of coughing and choking, Altair lay heaving harshly, fighting for air. He turned his head to fix his wavering gaze on Malik.

"Ma… Malik?" He rasped feebly.

The older teen stared for a long moment. Then, he snatched Altair up, pulling him into a bone crushing embrace. Altair gasped, his burning lungs searing in protest.

"You idiot!" Malik snarled, "You idiot, thank God…" He grabbed Altair's face between his hands, planting a fierce kiss to his forehead. "You are the luckiest fool I have ever met," he said into Altair's temple, trying to hold back his relieved tears. "I thought you were dead."

Altair chuckled painfully. "You won't… Be rid of me… So easily, Malik," He wheezed between gasps, smirking. "But… Maybe next… Time…"

A shrill, hysterical burst of laughter escaped Malik. He clutched Altair closer to him. "Yes," He agreed, "Maybe next time."

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**So… Yeah.**

**I got nothing.**

**Something a little more lighthearted next time, I think. Back to Des and Shaun. Yup.**

**Don't forget to review.**


	4. Expiration Date

**Hm. This whole "update a day" thing has become quite the habit of mine, hasn't it? Mostly because I have way too much free time and way too many ideas. Aren't you guys just so lucky to have me around? Who else gives you daily updates?**

**When you really think about it, I am quite marvelous.**

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"What the hell are you doing?"

Desmond jumped, making a strangled choking noise. He whirled around, clutching the box guiltily to his chest. Shaun was scowling at him from the kitchen doorway. It took several long moments for Desmond to remember that he had done nothing wrong, and he flushed with embarrassment, an annoyed huff escaping him as his shoulders slumped back down and his arms dropped to his sides. The tone the historian had used had made him feel like an eight-year-old sneaking something he shouldn't, and Desmond had reacted on a long-forgotten, childish instinct. He glared at Shaun.

"Nothing," Desmond said sullenly, pulling a snack cake from the box before tossing it back into the cupboard. "Getting something to eat."

"You're eating _that._"

"Yeah…"

"For breakfast."

"Yes!" Desmond snapped, starting to feel exasperated. He didn't enjoy being interrogated so early in the morning. Before he could say another word, however, Shaun was moving towards him, snatching the package from Desmond's fingers. "Hey!" He protested.

"You're not eating this." Shaun said simply, and Desmond watched with something akin to horror as the older man effortlessly tossed cake across the tiny kitchen and into the trashcan.

He had just thrown away a perfectly good snack cake.

"What are you, my mom?" Desmond demanded.

"What are you, five?" Shaun countered. When Desmond sputtered indignantly, he smirked. "You're not having junk food for breakfast."

"What else am I going to have?" Desmond asked. "I can't cook, I burn water."

Shaun heaved a rather dramatic sigh. "Sit down, I'll make you something."

"You'll – what?"

"I said, _sit down._"

Desmond blinked, dropping into one of the chairs at the small table. Shaun turned away and immediately began to pull things out of the refrigerator and cupboards, and Desmond watched in silence.

This was rather unexpected.

Several minutes later, Shaun was setting a plate in front of Desmond. The assassin stared. It was an omelet. There were chunks of green and red peppers in it, with a sprinkling of cheese on top. Desmond picked up his fork, but stopped himself from cutting into it. He gave the omelet a suspicious look, glancing up at Shaun, who was standing next to his chair, watching him.

"Did you poison this?" Desmond asked, frowning.

"Just eat your fucking breakfast."

Desmond, still frowning, took a bite. He chewed slowly, and took another bite. And then another.

It was _good._

"I didn't know you could cook," The younger man managed to say around a mouthful of food. Shaun gave Desmond a disgusted look.

"Someone has to know how to," He explained as soon as he was done glaring at Desmond. "Lucy is gone half the time, and Rebecca isn't to be trusted around the stove."

Desmond hummed, too focused on shoveling the food in his mouth to reply. Shaun rolled his eyes, turning to leave.

"We'll be starting the next memory block when you're done, so hurry up," He said before disappearing around the doorway. Desmond finished his last bite of food. He stood quickly and dumped the dish into the sink, almost to the door when his eyes fell on the trash can. He frowned. It couldn't hurt, could it?

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"Miles, so help me, if you pulled that cake out of the garbage—"

"What?! It's plastic wrapped, it's fine!"

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**I'm such a dork.**

**And I don't care what Shaun says. Snack cakes are the breakfast of CHAMPIONS!**

**Aaannyywaaaayyyy. I wanna know what you guys wanna see next. I have a couple ideas buzzing around in my head.**

**Do you want, a. a cute EzioLeonardo fic, or b. another shot where I beat Altair senseless again (BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE DOING THAT).**

**Or, OR!**

**Option C: Since the first EzioLeonardo one, I've wanted to draw more sleepy!assassins. I think it's really cute. You guys think it's really cute. I can only come to the conclusion that it's REALLY CUTE.**

**So, what do you guys think? Review and let me know, m'kaaay? PEACE OUT, HOMIES.**


	5. Goodnight, Travel Well

**Guess what, everyone?! Sleepy!Assassins won. Which makes me glad, because that's what I wanted to write the most.**

**SO LET'S DO THIS.**

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Malik wanted to hate him. He had cost him his arm, his brother, his former life as an assassin, and he wanted to hate him for it. For a long while, he was able to hate him. With a cold and poisonous conviction, he loathed the man.

But looking at him now, he couldn't.

Malik stood in the Bureau's doorway, gaze fixed on the still form of the assassin. Upon returning from his mission successfully, he had immediately dropped into a very deep sleep. He lay half-curled on his side, face pressed into the pillows. His robe was tattered and blood soaked, some his own, most belonging to his victims. Malik stared hard at him, trying to find the villain that had destroyed his life, but it was impossible.

When Malik looked at Altair, he could not see a villain.

Malik saw the six-year-old child who had been abandoned at the gates of Masyaf, parentless and alone, but unafraid and stoic. He was placed in Malik and Kadar's bedroom, and Malik remembered being awoken very late that night by muffled sobs coming from the cot on the other side of the room.

He saw the eight-year-old boy who, plagued by nightmares for many years, would crawl into Malik's bed in the dead of night when Kadar was asleep. Malik would roll over to make room for him, and Altair would bury his face into the older boy's back, and neither of them would say a word.

He saw the eleven-year-old who would fall asleep standing up during combat lessons because he would spend the nights roaming the town. Malik would always pinch him awake when the instructor looked their way, but he always managed to drop straight back into a slumber once his gaze had swept away from them.

He saw the proud thirteen-year-old who, for the first time in many years, slipped into Malik's bed the night before his official initiation into the brotherhood and confessed that he was afraid to have his finger cut off. Malik, who had been initiated nearly a year earlier, was bombarded by questions. How badly would it hurt? For how long? What if something went wrong? It took the novice over an hour to sooth the younger teen back into sleep with assurances that all would be well.

(Malik was sorry for this two days later when the infection had set in, and for days Altair fought off fever and delirium, sobbing for Malik and Kadar and sometimes even his parents, pleading with them to make the suffering end.)

He saw the reckless fifteen-year-old novice on one of their first elementary missions, knocked into unconsciousness for hours from a severe blow to the head. Malik was forced to take him back to the Bureau while the assassin who had been escorting them finished the mission, and he tended to him with fear twisting in his gut, frightened that Altair would never wake again.

He saw the sixteen-year-old he had plucked, barely alive from, the river. Another time he thought he had lost the boy forever.

He saw the seventeen-year-old who, too drunk to even remember his own name, had pressed up against Malik with his needy caresses and kisses and slurred confessions of love, and Malik, too drunk to even reason with himself, had allowed himself to take the teenager that night.

(It had been the first of many couplings, most drunken, some desperate, a few angry, but all loving. Malik had never regretted a single one.)

He saw the child, the teenager, the man who used to joke, and laugh, and, damn it, who just let himself be _vulnerable_ sometimes.

He saw the man who he found was slowly being pulled away from him by duty, turned cold and ruthless and so purely objective that it was frightening.

(And, God, how he regretted this, how it had hurt him, and how he hated himself for never trying to stop it.)

Altair had changed. He was still cool and distant, but Malik could see the difference in him. Altair had become calmer, more humble and patient. He was wiser, and Malik could see that he was even remorseful.

And, buried beneath all that, Malik could see the man he had once loved so fiercely that it was almost painful. He would sometimes catch the ghost of that old smirk on his lips, or the weak spark of mocking laughter in his eyes. He was still reckless when it came to his own safety. He still hung on to some air of his former arrogance, though it was a very rare sight. He was still as proud as the eagle he was named for, still so certain of himself. When Malik looked, some of the old Altair was still there.

Moonlight was streaming into the courtyard, shining on Altair's face. His hood had slipped from his head, and it was the first time in a long time that Malik had seen the assassin's face completely. In sleep, Altair looked open and vulnerable, and somehow he seemed so much younger, as if all those years had not passed and everything was still the same.

It made Malik's heart ache.

The Dai sighed wearily, turning away from the door. "You are a fool," He told himself. "It does not do to dwell on hopeless things…"

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**Hm. I didn't mean to make this so angsty. Or so Malik!centric. **

**Whatever.**

**Anyway, it's sleepy (read: DRUNK) Ezio next time.**

**AND CRAP, MY PERFECT UPDATE-A-DAY STREAK HAS BEEN BROKEN. Thanks, FanFiction, for not letting me upload any documents all day… MUMBLEGRUMBLE!**


	6. Baby, I'm Yours

**You know why I'm here. And I know why I'm here. So let's just get on with it, shall we?**

**YES. WE SHALL.**

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"I," Ezio said slowly, smiling blearily at the artist as he tried to tug his arm away, "Am very drunk."

Leonardo didn't respond, snatching Ezio's arm back and continuing to bandage it.

"It's funny," He said, "Because…" Ezio paused, giggling to himself, "I do not remember drinking anything."

"Ah, that's because you haven't been drinking," Leonardo explained a bit wearily. He leaned back a little to admire the work he had accomplished. It was no easy task, trying to bind the wounds of a squirming assassin. "That would be the poison," he continued, "Now, give me your other arm."

Ezio frowned, letting Leonardo take his arm docilely. "I was poisoned?"

"Yes, but I had an antidote," Leonardo said, dabbing salve onto a particularly nasty cut on the assassin's arm. "Luckily, all the archers seem to use the same standard poison, whenever they do poison their arrows. I had developed the antidote some time ago." He paused, glancing up at Ezio. "Don't you remember?"

"No," Ezio said blithely, grinning again. Leonardo sighed.

It had been very late when Ezio had stumbled into his workshop, bloodied and dazed. There had been too many guards chasing him, he said, to be able to get to an actual doctor. With some effort (and a great deal of self control), Leonardo had managed to strip the younger man down to his trousers and prop him up in a chair. He had numerous cuts and bruises, and when he had arrived, a broken arrow was still in his side. Though painful, Ezio was lucky it was still there. Otherwise, Leonardo would not have known that he had been poisoned until it was too late.

He had administered the antidote quickly enough, but the poison seemed to have an intoxicating and muscle relaxant quality that the antidote couldn't counteract. Ezio was practically boneless, but was completely unconcerned about his predicament. In fact, he was quite high-spirited, if not a little befuddled.

"You know, Leonardo," Ezio said distractedly, "You are very good looking. I cannot understand why you don't have a wife."

Leonardo swallowed, feeling his face heat up. He gave the assassin a strained smile. "I… I am married to my work," He said hastily, nodding to himself as he began to bandage Ezio's arm again. "No woman would put up with me."

Ezio hummed slowly, staring blearily at Leonardo's face. It was very uncomfortable, especially since Leonardo had moved to tend to the wounds on Ezio's chest.

"I don't think so," Ezio went on slowly, seeming to struggle with the words. He gave a little drunken laugh. "It is… What's the word? It is very romantic. Women like artists… And, you are very good looking."

"You already said that," Leonardo mumbled, rubbing the salve into a bruise on Ezio's stomach, blushing.

"Did I?" Ezio asked, humming again. He stared at Leonardo again. "You know, if you were a woman, I think I would have already slept with you."

Leonardo blushed scarlet. Ezio didn't seem to notice. He fell back in his chair, considering the ceiling with a dazed look.

"Maybe I should sleep with you anyway," He went on, and Leonardo nearly choked. "I like you, Leonardo. I really do! And you are very, very good looking…"

"Y-yes, well, why don't we just finish bandaging you up, hm?" Leonardo said quickly, ducking his head down so Ezio wouldn't see how red his face was. He began to wind a strip of linen around Ezio's chest. As he reached a round the younger man's torso, the assassin slumped forward, resting his forehead on Leonardo's shoulder. Leonardo stiffened, arms still outstretched, half embracing the man.

"I like you, Leonardo," He slurred, snuggling his head further into the crook of the artist's neck.

"E-Ezio," Leonardo croaked, heart pounding in his chest, "I—"

He was interrupted by a snore. He shifted, glancing sidelong at the assassin. He had fallen asleep, and was drooling quite contentedly on the artist's shoulder.

Leonardo could have sobbed, so great was his exasperation.

It took several moments to maneuver the younger man back into his seat. Leonardo hastily finished tending to his injuries and heaved a sigh, leaning heavily against the table behind him.

"_Amico mio_, I swear, you shall be the death of me."

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**POOR LEONARDO. He'll never get a break. It's just so fun to torture him.**

**Anyway. Sleepy!Des next time.**

**Remember to revieeewww!**


	7. All The Pretty Faces

**So… I know I said I was going to continue with my sleepy assassins… BUUUTTT…**

**I got distracted.**

**You see, I came home from my figure drawing class, and I sat down, and this appeared. What can you do?

* * *

**

There was a naked woman in the room.

Ezio stood motionless in the doorway, stunned. There was a naked woman in the middle of Leonardo's workshop, and Leonardo was touching her.

The two had frozen at the sound of the door opening, turning to look at the man. A long second passed, and then—

"Ezio, what-?"

"_Non guardarmi!"_

The woman, shrieking, snatched up a sheet at her feet, covering herself with it as she dashed up the stairs leading to the living quarters. Leonardo quickly turned, half extending a hand as if to stop her.

"Ah, _Signorina, _wait!" He called, but she was already gone. From somewhere upstairs, a door slammed. Leonardo was still for a moment, and then looked to the assassin with a glower. "Ezio! Look at what you have done!"

Ezio opened his mouth to speak, but for some reason, no words would come to him.

Half a moment later, the young woman came storming back down the stairs. She had hastily thrown on her dress and shoes, and her face was flushed scarlet. Leonardo rushed to follow her as she stomped to the door. "Please, _Signorina, _I am so very sorry about this, do not leave, I—"

"No!" She cried, "I am leaving at once, I have never been so humiliated in all my life! Goodbye!" She flew out the door. Leonardo was left in the doorway, staring after her.

"_Maledizione!" _He cursed halfheartedly, and he turned back to Ezio with a slightly peeved look on his face as he closed the door. "The _one_ time you decide not to knock, Ezio…"

"I-I am sorry, Leonardo," Ezio sputtered. For reasons he could not explain, he was feeling horribly flustered. "If I had known, I…"

Leonardo sighed heavily, dropping into a seat at the table. "I had followed her for an hour before I was able to speak to her."

"I—" Ezio began, though he didn't know what he was trying to say.

"It took me a very long time to convince her to come back here, and then you barge in, and—"

"I, I _am _sorry, Leonardo, I have never known you to have women over, I didn't think—"

"—it is so difficult to get women to pose for me, and she had such an interesting face, I wanted to draw her very badly—"

"—that I would be interrupting something, and—Wait. Posing?"

Leonardo looked back up at Ezio, looking puzzled. "Yes, I saw her in the market this morning, and she had very good proportions, so I asked her to model for me." Leonardo paused. Then, his face flushed. "Wait a moment, did you think that I—That we—?"

Ezio blushed, too, choking out, "W-well, she was naked, and you were touching her!"

"I-I was posing her arms!" Leonardo exclaimed, voice slightly shrill with embarrassment.

"Well, from my angle, it looked like—"

"_Dio mio_, I would never—"

They both stared at each other, mortified. Ezio was the first to manage to speak.

"So then nothing—"

"No."

Silence.

"Oh."

They both pointedly looked away from each other. After half a minute, it seemed that Leonardo couldn't stand the silence any longer.

"So, was there something you needed, _amico mio?_" He asked, straining to sound as normal as possible.

"Ah," Ezio began, clearing his throat, still staring fixedly at the corner. "Yes. I found another codex page."

"How exciting! L-let's see it, then, shall we?"

* * *

**SO AWKWARD.**

**Apparently, when Leonardo da Vinci saw a person with an interesting face, he would kind of stalk them all day, observing them. In a totally non-creepy way, mind you. It's like taking people-watching to the extreme level, I guess.**

**But, to all you guys wondering, nude drawing isn't nearly as weird as you would think. You pretty much become completely desensitized to seeing naked people within the first couple of classes. And it's basically the only way you can learn to accurately draw the human figure. Its pretty fun, actually. I ENJOY IT AND WHOLEHEARTEDLY RECOMMEND IT.  
**

**I don't know what I'm gonna do next time. We'll see what my little brain cooks up.**


	8. The World At Large

**WHOA. HEY GUYS. FANCY MEETING YOU HERE.**

**Beware, rambling ahead:**

**Okay, so, you're probably wondering where I've been. I know, I know – two days is a long time. You've all missed me something terrible, I'm sure. And you see, I could tell you a story about how my life caught up with me, or how I've been bedridden with illness, or maybe how my computer exploded and I was unable to write…**

**Or… I could tell the truth, and tell you guys that I got a nook. Yes, that e-reader. WHAT CAN I SAY? It's shiny and new and pretty. I could not resist its charm. However, I've dragged myself away from it for another chapter. WHY, YOU ASK…?**

**IT'S BECAUSE IT'S MY BIRTHDAAAYYY!**

… **Well, maybe. It's not my birthday yet here on the west coast, but if you're on the east coast, it's definitely my birthday. So, I'm writing this, because there's only one thing I want for my birthday: REVIEWS. I WANT REVIEWS, AND LOTS OF THEM. **

**SO, LET'S DO THIS THIIINNNGGG!**

**

* * *

**

It was some sort of fraternal instinct that woke Malik up.

Still not fully awake, the eight-year-old boy stared at the ceiling. The room was quiet save for gentle whisper of breeze from the open window. Malik almost fell back asleep, when—

There it was again. A sniffle.

Malik lifted his head from his pillow, eyes drifting to Kadar's bed. His younger brother was motionless in sleep, and Malik frowned. He turned again, eyes falling on the room's other occupant.

There was a small, quivering shape under the blankets. Malik sat up, staring at the form.

Altair did not cry.

True, the first night he had arrived, he had cried, but that was to be expected. His parents had abandoned him that day, and it was unlikely that they would ever return for him. Any normal child would have cried. But after that night, Altair had proved to be a stubborn, ill-tempered boy who absolutely refused to show any weakness. He was prideful, smug even, and he had an amazing talent for getting under Malik's skin.

If this were any other time, Malik would have teased him mercilessly for it. But for some reason, seeing him crying like this, trying to muffle his distressed sobs… It reminded him of Kadar, who, on several occasions, had shaken Malik awake in the middle of the night after a bad dream, desperate for some sort of comfort.

The big brother in Malik would not let him just sit there.

"Altair," Malik hissed.

The boy froze under his covers, instantly silent.

When he did not move, Malik sighed. "Altair, I know you're awake."

The younger boy finally peered over the edge of his blankets, golden eyes narrowed. "What?" He asked in a watery voice, and Malik could tell he was struggling to control himself.

"You're crying."

"I am not!" He cried, indignantly. Kadar snorted loudly from his bed.

"Stupid, keep it down, you'll wake him!"

Altair glared at Malik.

"I was not crying."

"You were too, I heard you. Did you have a bad dream?"

Altair was silent.

"Well?"

"I am not telling you."

"Fine," Malik snapped in a whisper, and he flopped back into his pillows, turning on his side so his back faced the younger boy.

A long silence followed.

"Nightmare."

"Huh?" Malik asked, glancing over his shoulder to look at Altair. He was staring pointedly at his lap.

"Had a nightmare," Altair mumbled again. His pride would not allow him to look Malik in the face.

"Oh… What about?"

"… Can't remember," Altair said softly. He reached up to swipe at his eyes with a closed fist, his shoulders tensing. "But…"

"Scary?"

Altair nodded.

Malik hummed slowly, staring hard at Altair. Though he was only a year younger then Malik, he was still shorter and slighter then the older boy. He sat with his legs curled under him and his hands held loosely in his lap. He was crouching into himself slightly, as if to protect himself from something. Sitting there as he was now, he was truly a pathetic sight, and something twisted painfully in Malik's stomach.

"You can, uh…" Malik began clumsily, "You can sleep here, if you want…" He pointed to his own bed as way of explanation. Altair gave him a strange, slightly startled look.

"Why?" He asked slowly.

"Kadar used to have bad dreams. He wouldn't fall asleep again unless I let him in my bed."

Altair regarded him with a slight suspicion. But, after a minute, he slipped from his own bed, padding silently to Malik's. The older boy scooted away to give him room, and Altair crawled into Malik's bed. Up close, Malik could see the boy's eyes were slightly puffy from crying, and in the faint moonlight, it looked like he was blushing slightly.

"Thanks," Altair mumbled grudgingly. Malik shrugged and turned back on his side. After a moment, Altair settled down, too. In a few short minutes, the younger boy's breathing steadied and slowed, and Malik could tell he had fallen asleep. It seemed that, in his sleep, his fists had found the back of Malik's shirt, and they were curled loosely on a handful of it, but Malik did not try to shake them off.

He figured that even Altair was allowed some weaknesses.

* * *

**I'll admit it – I've wanted to write that for a while. Ever since my sleepy! Altair, I've had the image of little kid Malik and little kid Altair in my brain. I want them to be cuuutteee.**

**Anyway. Remember, ABRA WANTS REVIEWS FOR HER BIRTHDAY.**

**And you won't get another chapter until I am completely satisfied with my review count! IT'S MY DAMN BIRTHDAY. I CAN BE DEMANDING IF I WANT.**


	9. Ain't No Rest For The Wicked

**You crazy kids! 23 reviews? For one chapter?! YOU GUYS ROCK SO HARD.**

**This would have come sooner, except I went to Disneyland for my birthday, AND IT LITERALLY TOOK ME A WHOLE DAY TO RECOVER. I was there for fifteen hours, running about like a mad woman. My legs still ache, but it was worth it. I have a Disneyland obsession, and that was the first time I've been in four months, which is COMPLETELY unheard of. I freak out if I don't go at least twice a month…**

**ANYWAY. ENOUGH ABOUT ME.**

**Here is you Sleepy!Des. FINALLY.

* * *

**

Desmond was always a light sleeper. To see him so deeply asleep was a rare sight.

It had been a little after ten that night when Lucy decided it was time to pull Desmond out of the Animus. He had been in the machine for nearly fourteen hours, only taking breaks when Lucy insisted on pulling him out to shove food down his throat. When they stopped for the day, Desmond had stumbled to his bed and immediately dropped into sleep.

Lucy and Rebecca had retired soon after. Shaun still had work to do, so he stayed in the Animus room to catalog the information Desmond had unearthed that day.

However, he kept finding himself distracted from his task.

For perhaps the hundredth time in less than an hour, he glanced over his shoulder to look over at the sleeping assassin in the corner of the room. It was not as if he was _being _distracting. In fact, Desmond was sleeping rather soundly for once: he wasn't snoring, or tossing about, or mumbling in his sleep, as he often did. He was silent and still.

Shaun couldn't explain why his gaze kept being pulled to the man.

With an exasperated sigh, Shaun got up out of seat and stalked over to where the assassin slept. He stopped at the foot of his bed, glaring darkly at its occupant.

Desmond was completely untroubled in sleep, lips parted slightly, breathing slow and steady. One arm was flung haphazardly above his head, and the other dangled over the side of the bed. He hadn't bothered to take off his shoes before falling into bed. The hem of his hoodie and t-shirt had inched up his stomach in his sleep, exposing a strip of pale skin.

Shaun felt his cheeks heat up, and he scowled.

"Idiot," he grumbled. With hurried, jerky motions, he pulled off the younger man's shoes, and moved the arm that had been hanging off the bed back at his side. "Needs to be tucked in like a fucking five-year-old…" Shaun snatched at the blankets that had been kicked to the foot of the bed and he yanked them back straight, throwing them over the assassin.

With that done, he crossed his arms over his chest, looking back down at Desmond. He still slept on, dead to the world. Shaun turned to go back to his desk, but stopped himself half-way through.

He glanced back to the sleeping man.

The impulse was so strong and sudden that Shaun was powerless to stop it. Before he realized what he was doing, he was walking back towards the side of the bed. He bent down slowly, bracing his hands on either side of assassin's pillow, so his face was a few short inches away from Desmond's. Dark lashes fluttered slightly, and Shaun could feel the younger man's breath ghost across his face. He dipped his head down. His lips brushed lightly against Desmond's, and the man made a soft noise in the back of his throat. Desmond's lips moved against Shaun's, and the historian, humming slightly, pressed deeper into the kiss. He brushed his tongue across Desmond's lips, and the younger man's mouth parted, giving him access. Shaun's tongue slipped into his mouth, and Desmond moaned. Loudly.

Shaun's sanity snapped back to him with a deafening crash, and he broke the kiss, jerking away from the bed. He flushed crimson, and his lips burned where they had met the assassin's. _Dear God, what had possessed him to do that? _His gaze was fixed on Desmond's face, heart pounding as he waited for him to open his eyes. Shaun stood frozen for several long moments, but nothing happened.

Desmond was still asleep.

With a slight choking noise, Shaun turned on his heel. "Fuck," He hissed to himself, storming silently back to his computer. He shut it down as quickly as he could. He knew very well he would be getting no work done tonight.

"Bloody fuck," He cursed again, and he marched out of the room.

Desmond cracked open an eye to watch the historian go, smirking to himself.

* * *

**Jeez, I don't know where that one came from. **

**Shall we call it compensation for my resent absences?**


	10. The Devil's Workday

**Hey guys, guess what? I'm doing a REQUEST! **** asked for a little series of worried!Malik+Leo+Shaun when their assassin's are away. And really, how could I refuse? I love taking requests. **

**We'll start with worried!Malik, shall we? Because novice Altair and Malik is LOVE.**

**

* * *

**

"Your aim is terrible today, brother. Does something trouble you, I wonder?"

Malik knew his young brother too well to fall for the innocent tone of his voice. He stared fixedly at the wood target, tossing another knife at it. It struck well outside the circle. He turned to glare at his brother, to find Kadar grinning impishly at him.

"And what do you mean by that?" Malik asked, practically snarling.

Kadar seemed unfazed. He went on smiling, shrugging casually. "Oh, nothing, just that you seem… Distracted, perhaps?" Kadar hopped down from the fence he had been sitting on, jogging to take his place before the target. He pulled a knife from his belt, flipped it in his hand a few times, and then flicked it at the wooden block. He managed a bull's-eye, the throwing knife hitting the target with a dull _thunk._

He turned to smile at Malik again.

"I am not distracted," Malik grumbled, moving to take another turn.

"Really?" Asked Kadar coyly, "Well, my mistake then. It's just, for the past few days you have seemed occupied by something. I thought, with Altair gone…"

Malik threw his knife again.

Miss.

"What about Altair?" He growled venomously. Kadar grinned slyly.

"Oh, nothing. I just thought that perhaps you were worried about him."

Malik managed to force out a rather strained laugh. "Me? Worried about Altair?" He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Please. As if I would bother myself with that fool." He aimed his knife.

"Is that so?" His brother replied loftily. "I see. I just thought you might be concerned. After all, he has never been on a solo mission before." A pause. "Without you."

Another miss.

"Altair is seventeen. He is hardly a child. He can manage a mission on his own."

"Really?" Kadar asked cheerfully, trotting over to the wooden target to collect the throwing knives. "I thought you always said that Altair was the most incompetent novice in the brotherhood—"

Malik stiffened.

"—and that he could not go two steps without alerting an entire city of his presence—"

Malik sputtered, a denial caught in his throat.

"—and that it was impossible for him to go through a single assignment without attaining some sort of injury." Kadar hummed innocently, smiling. "I must have imagined that you said those things, I suppose. Ah, well." He finished gathering the knives, and returned to Malik. He pressed the throwing knives into his brother's hands. "You are right, of course. Altair cannot be so completely reckless that he cannot manage a single, insignificant mission on his own. Anyway, thank you for practicing with me today, brother. You know how much trouble I have with throwing knives."

Kadar, beaming, ambled out of the training courtyard and out of sight, leaving Malik to gape after him.

In that moment, Malik would have traded anything in the world to punch Kadar in the face.

* * *

It was so preposterous. He, Malik? Worried?

Never.

Malik stared blankly up at the ceiling. It had been hours since he and Kadar had retired to bed, but Malik still could not sleep. The moon was full tonight, and it was keeping him awake.

_Of course, the moon, _said an annoying little voice in the back of his mind. _It_ _couldn't possibly be worry._

He was not worried about Altair! How ridiculous. What did he have to be worried about? Altair was perfectly qualified for a solo mission. He had not failed a mission yet.

_He has never failed a mission before because you were always there with him._

That was not true! Not completely. Altair was a very skilled assassin.

_What are you talking about?_ The voice asked. _He is as reckless as they come. He rarely manages to escapes injury._

Not true!

_He was shot by an archer the last mission. The arrow had missed his heart by mere inches._

It had hit his shoulder! He had ducked in time. The wound hadn't even been that bad, save for all blood loss…

_What about the time before that, the sword wound to the back._

But he was fine! The wound had not been _that _deep, really...

_He nearly _drowned_ less than a year ago._

Well… Yes, he had been okay in the end…

_That is only because you were there to save the fool. _

This was stupid. Altair would be fine.

_Will he?_

"Shut up," Malik snapped softly, turning on his side to glare at the wall. "He is not an idiot."

_But isn't he?_

Malik groaned.

He was going to kill Kadar.

* * *

**Meh. Don't know how I feel about this one. It didn't really want to be written.**

**Anyway. Next one will be Shaun and Des, and it will be better.**


	11. Too Much To Ask

**Now, once again, I could think up some amazing excuse for my absence. Or I could just tell you that I finally got the Sims 3 to start working on my computer again.**

**I'm easily distracted, and the Sims 3 is soul consuming. WHAT CAN I SAY?**

**Anyway. LET'S GET TO THE FIC.**

**

* * *

**Desmond suddenly found himself blinking up at the roof of the hideout. For a long moment, he was confused, not quite sure what had happened.

"What's going on?" He asked, glancing over at Rebecca with a dazed look. Lately, he always felt out of sorts after exiting the Animus

Rebecca was grinning at him.

"Lucy's back!" She said excitedly, standing from her desk.

Sure enough, Lucy came striding into the room seconds later. As Rebecca practically bounded over to the other woman to give her a hug and Shaun called a brief "welcome back" over his shoulder, Desmond lurched himself into a sitting position, managing a smile.

"Hey, how'd it go?" He asked.

For the past week, Lucy had been away to meet other assassin's, "higher ups" as she had put it. She had been unable to give them many details, but had assured them that the meeting was important.

"It went really great," Lucy said, turning to beam at Desmond. "Better than I could have hoped. I've got really great news."

"What?" Desmond and Shaun said together. Desmond glanced briefly at the Brit, who had twirled his chair around to face Lucy.

Lucy turned to beam at Desmond. "They've approved you to go on a mission." She said, clearly excited. "You're officially an assassin!"

Desmond stared at her blankly for a moment. "Seriously?" He asked, and a grin appeared on his face. "I'm getting an assignment? For real?"

"Yes! I mean, it's not a really big mission, you'll just be following up on a possible lead for on a Piece of Eden with a few other assassins, but still, it's a huge first step."

"Whoa, congrats, Des!" Rebecca said, punching his shoulder. "You're joining the big boys, now!"

Almost as a group, they turned to look at Shaun, who had been completely silent.

He was staring at them all with something akin to horror on his face. "I'm sorry," He said slowly, shaking his head slightly, as if dazed. "I could have sworn you said _Desmond is going on a mission…"_

Lucy frowned. "He is. He's been approved, the Order thinks he's ready."

Shaun scowled at Lucy. "And they've come to this conclusion _how?_" He asked skeptically.

"I showed them security footage of Desmond training," She said, looking slightly perturbed, sensing Shaun's building agitation. "And I gave my full recommendation. He's ready; his training has gone off without a hitch."

Shaun stared at Lucy, completely expressionless. "Without a… _Without a hitch? _Have you lost your mind?"

"_Excuse me?"_

"You're mad!" Shaun cried, jumping to his feet. "Jesus Christ! Without a hitch! I suppose the fucking bleeding effect doesn't count as much of a hitch, does it?!"

Lucy looked like she had just received a blow to the stomach. "The bleeding effect is fine," She finally managed to snarl. "It's completely manageable—"

"Managable!" Shaun barked a harsh laugh. "Oh, I get it now, you haven't told them about it, have you? They have no idea!"

"Shaun, this is not the time to discuss this!" Lucy snapped.

"Yeah, c'mon Shaun, enough," Rebecca said timidly.

"Oh, no, I think this is the perfect time to discuss this! You have noticed, I assume, that the bleeding effect is getting worse, right?"

"Shaun—"

"That he's constantly dropping out of reality? And losing consciousness on a regular basis? Waking up and not knowing who or where he is? Randomly bursting out in Arabic or Italian? And, goodness, what was that last thing?"

"Shaun, I'm warning you—" Lucy growled.

"Oh, yes, now I remember! That he actually _attacked you_ not even two weeks ago?"

"SHAUN!" Rebecca yelled.

Desmond, who had been watching in shock, mouth agape, flinched at this last one. It was true; the bleeding effect had been getting much worse lately. A week and a half ago, he had been pulled out of the Animus rather violently. The memory had been a very disturbing one, and he had blacked out upon waking. When he came back to his senses, Shaun was pulling him off of Lucy, who had a bloody lip and bruises on her neck.

He had never felt so guilty in his entire life.

"That's enough, Shaun!" Lucy snapped, "Shut up, now! You have absolutely no right—"

"Oh, don't give me any of that bullshit—" Shaun started, but Lucy cut him off.

"Not bullshit, an order!" She spat. "You forget your rank, Hastings! I am in charge here, and I am ordering you to shut the fuck up!"

For a moment, Shaun could only sputter furiously. Then, he closed his mouth with an audible snap, breathing heavily. "Fuck you, Stillman," He said slowly after a long pause. "And fuck you, too, Rebecca." He stopped, turning to Desmond. "And you know what? For good measure, why don't you just go fuck yourself, too, Miles?"With that, he stormed away.

Desmond hissed slightly under his breath.

Shit. That had stung.

At this point, Lucy was beyond words. She hurried to stand by the window, struggling to compose herself.

Rebecca appeared at Desmond's elbow, looking at him apologetically.

"Oh man, Des," She said softly, "I'm sorry, he was way out of line…"

"Don't be sorry, it's not your fault…" He said gruffly, taking a deep, steadying breath.

"Still, that was seriously not cool… I'm gonna go talk to him."

"No," Desmond said quickly. "I'll talk to him."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I think I know what his problem is, anyway…"

* * *

"Hey," Desmond said from the doorway of Shaun's bedroom. The historian glanced up long enough to give him a withering look, but didn't say anything. He quickly turned back to the boxes he had dumped on his bed, rifling through the papers within.

"Um…" Desmond only realized then that he had no idea what he was going to say to Shaun. He stepped into the room, closing the door behind him. "So… What are you doing?"

"Organizing old documents," He answered curtly.

Desmond took a few steps forward. He could see now that each box had a different century written on the outside.

"Oh."

Desmond shifted on his feet awkwardly as Shaun continued to shuffle through his papers. They were both silent.

"Nothing's going to happen," Desmond finally blurted.

"You don't know that," Shaun snapped. Desmond let out a frustrated breath.

"You heard what Lucy said, the mission isn't a big deal. Following up on a lead. What's the worst that could hap—"

Shaun was on his feet and in front of Desmond in a second. He grabbed a handful of Desmond's jacket and shoved him into the door. Instinctively, Desmond snatched at his wrists, trying to tug his hands away, but suddenly Shaun was smashing his lips against his.

Desmond let his hands drop and snake around to clutch at the back of Shaun's shirt, and the taller man moved his own hands to cup Desmond's face, pressing deeper into the kiss. Desmond gasped slightly, and Shaun took the opportunity to slip his tongue in the younger man's mouth.

The kiss was just as sloppy and aggressive as all their others, but there was also something painfully desperate about this one.

They only broke apart when they were both too breathless to go on.

"Don't you fucking dare say that," Shaun panted, still holding Desmond's face. "You _know_ what could happen. The fucking bleeding effect isn't going to go away, Desmond."

"I'll be careful—"

"Careful isn't good enough! Careful won't stop you from blacking out or fucking losing your mind again and attacking someone! If you compromise the mission, the other assassins, if something goes wrong, they _will_ kill you! Do you not get that?"

Desmond sighed and pulled away from Shaun's grip, leaning against the door. "I know," He said, "But I can't _not_ go just because something _might_ go wrong."

"The hell you can't!"

"I came here to be an assassin! To help find the Pieces of Eden, and stop the Templars, and all this shit! That's why we've all been doing all this time, going with the Animus. I'm going the mission, Shaun. Everything will be fine."

Shaun stared at the younger man long and hard. He sighed in frustration, turning away to return to his documents.

"If you die, I won't fucking forgive you for it," He spat bitterly.

* * *

Desmond returned much worse for wear, and Shaun nearly drew blood for it.

The other assassin's – a tall red headed woman and two brothers who bickered constantly in German – carried the unconscious brunette back to the hideout almost a full day after they were supposed to return. By this point, they had all been worried, but Shaun was nearly at his wit's end, and he was threatening to kill someone when the group finally returned.

Apparently, the Templars had been expecting them when they went in for their investigation. They had fared well enough until a couple had pulled out guns. Desmond had been hit in the shoulder and his leg had been grazed, but was only brought down after a severe blow to the head. One of the German brothers had also been injured, but neither one of them had sustained anything life threatening.

Still, that didn't stop Shaun from giving Desmond a verbal beating upon his return to consciousness.

"You said not to come back dead, not uninjured," Desmond protested woozily as Lucy bandaged up his still-bleeding shoulder, the concussion making it too hard to think straight. "And I'm not dead. Stop yelling."

Rebecca literally had to drag Shaun away to keep him from punching the assassin.

* * *

**It's hot, I'm sleepy, and the Sims is calling me.**

**SO JUST REVIEW.**


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